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Bancroft  Library 

INTRODUCTION.* 


It 


HE  American  boy  demands  and  should 
receive,  for  his  benefit  and  ours,  an 
education  that  shall  fit  him  to  live  acceptably 
and  effectively  in  America.  And  no  curricu- 
lum of  English  public  school  or  German  gym- 
nasium or  French  lycee,  however  tested  and 
developed  through  long  years  and  found 
good  in  the  sight  of  English  or  German  or 
French  masters  of  teaching,  can  be  trans- 
planted and  thrust  intact  upon  any  American 
school,  and  that  school  be  the  best  sort  for 
American  boys. 

I^ife  in  America  is  different  from  life  in 
England  or  Germany,  and  American  school- 
ing should  be  a  particular  fitting  for  Ameri- 
can life.  Schooling  and  education  are  got 
from  other  sources  than  schools,  and  from 
other  men  and  things  than  professed  educa- 
tors. We  grown-ups  are  still  wedded  to  edu- 
cation  from  books  and  precepts  from  pre- 

*Iam  indebted  to  Professor  Vern  on  I,.  Kellogg,  Associate 
Professor  of  Zoology,  Iceland  Stanford  Junior  University,  Au- 
thor of  Elementary  Zoology,  Insect  Anatomy,  Etc.,  Etc.,  fof 
the  kindness  of  writing  this  "Introduction."  W.  W.  P. 


"ft 


ceptors.  But  give  the  boy  his  chance,  and 
see  him  get  educated  from  things  and  learn 
the  laws  of  fit  living  from  life  and  Nature  ! 
The  boy  is  the  real  original  investigator  ;  he 
is  the  questioner  of  the  realities  and  verities 
as  he  sees  and  feels  them  ;  he  asks  no  au- 
thority better  than  the  things  that  are,  no 
stimulus  to  go  to  school  to  the  world  which 
he  finds  about  him.  Some  direction  he  needs 
to  save  time  and  occasional  dissipation  of 
energy  ;  some  traditions  it  is  well  that  he 
should  know  and  respect,  but  give  him  a 
fair  length  of  picket-rope  for  varied  browsing, 
and  if  he  come  not  to  the  best  food  for  him, 
and  that  which  shall  nourish  him  to  the  best 
stature  and  quickest  blood,  he  will  do  less 
than  the  beasts  of  the  field,  and  the  outcome 
of  him,  despite  ever  so  much  nursing,  is  to  be 
feared.  -+ 

And  in  this  American  land  of  old  and  new 
civilizations  a-jostle,  where  one  and  the  same 
man  is  to-day  in  the  college  yard  at  Harvard 
under  the  shadow  of  the  traditions  and  the 
books,  and  to-morrow  is  astride  the  uncocked 
bronco  on  the  Bar  X  ranch,  or  somersaulting 


the  flapjack  in  its  warm  pan  near  the  prospect 
hole  on  the  Sierran  flanks,  it  is  well  that  the 
American  boy  begin  to  learn  to  know  Nature 
and  Things  in  the  same  hour  with  his  begin- 
ning to  learn  the  alphabets  of  deceased,  and 
except  from  school  and  college  class-rooms, 
departed  tongues.  Nor  is  the  American  boy 
educated  to  live  most  effectively  in  America 
unless  he  gets  this  other  and  untraditional 
part  of  his  education.  Our  country  has  still 
its  frontier,  its  pioneer  life,  its  "most  primitive 
wilderness ;"  and  its  men  have  still  to  be  to 
themselves  sufficient  in  many  and  various 
things.  That  progressive  civilization  which 
specializes  our  life,  and  makes  of  one  of  us  a 
tailor  for  all,  and  of  the  other  a  cook  for  all, 
and  of  the  other  the  towncrier,  has  not  yet 
and  will  not  for  long  to  come  fasten  its  benefi- 
cence on  all  ot  this  broad  land.  And  in  half 
of  it  the  man  must  still  be  ready  to  care  for 
himself  in  forest  and  on  plain,  on  water  and 
in  desert ;  to  care  for  the  horse  that  bears 
him,  the  rifle  that  gets  him  food,  the  canoe 
that  floats  him  over  the  blue  depths  or  threads 
his  way  through  the  white  rapids.  He  must 


be  his  own  cook  over  his  own  pine-cone  fed 
fire,  and  know  so  well  from  long  familiarity 
with  its  star-and-leaf-set  hangings  his  sweet- 
aired  bedroom  that  the  outdoor  night  around 
shall  not  keep  him  wakeful  with  its  strange- 
ness. The  American  boy  must  learn  to  do  as 
well  as  to  know  before  he  is  educated. 

Agassiz  Hall  is  apparently  a  good  example 
of  a  school  in  which  boys  do  things  ;  and 
especially  do  wholesome  and  righteous  things 
outdoors.  In  that  glorious  and  unique  outing, 
to  an  account  of  which  this  wee  book  is  de- 
voted, that  two  weeks  of  paddling  and  drifting 
in  rowboats  for  three  hundred  miles  through 
the  Great  Desert,  the  Agassiz  boys  let  me 
hear  of  summer  camps  in  the  Sierras,  of 
canoeing  on  Tahoe,  that  cleanest  and  purest 
and  most  grandly  set  of  American  lakes,  of 
monthly  campings  in  the  forests  near  the 
school.  They  discussed  with  animation  and 
full  technical  knowledge  the  fatal  merits  of 
various  traps  ;  they  called,  in  the  mornings, 
the  roll  of  the  night 's  visitors  about  camp 
from  the  footprints  on  the  sand  and  in  the 
soft  mud  of  the  river  bank  ;  they  named  the 


birds  from  their  flight  and  their  cries ;  they 
learned  how  to  read  on  the  faintly  lettered 
surface  of  the  river  whether  sand  bar  or  snag 
or  safe,  deep  channel  lay  beneath  ;  they 
learned  the  inexorable  laws  of  the  desert  and 
saw  how  plant  and  animal  bow  to  these  laws 
for  life's  sake.  And  the  things  they  knew 
had  come  from  * 'original  sources"  filtered 
through  no  stupid  or  sentimental  teacher  ; 
and  the  things  they  learned  were  knowledge 
become  a  part,  and  a  usable  part,  of  them. 
Nor  is  the  knowledge  less  inspiring  for  its 
practicalness,  less  stimulating  to  soul  than 

helpful  to  mind  and  muscle. 

#    '  #  *  *  *  * 

The  Desert !  "But  what  tongue  shall  tell 
the  majesty  of  it,  the  eternal  strength  of  it, 
the  poetry  of  its  widespread  chaos,  the  sub- 
limity of  its  lonely  desolation !  And  who 
shall  paint  the  splendor  of  its  light ;  and  from 
the  rising  up  of  the  sun  to  the  going  down  of 
the  moon  over  the  iron  mountains,  the  glory 
of  its  wondrous  coloring  !"  Truly,  not  my 
tongue,  though  with  keener  realization  of  its 
majesty  or  eyes  more  full  of  its  splendrous 


light  than  those  with  which  I  sit,  these  weeks 
away  from  it,  no  teller  of  its  story  could  ask 
to  be  endowed. 

And  the  great  "silent  river  !"  "The  voice- 
less river  !  From  the  canyon  to  the  sea  it 
flows  through  deserts,  and  ever  the  seal  of 
silence  is  upon  it.  Even  the  scant  life  of  its 
borders  is  dumb — birds  with  no  note,  animals 
with  no  cry,  human  beings  with  no  voice. 
And  so  forsaken  !  The  largest  river  west  of 
the  mountains  and  yet  the  least  known. 
There  are  miles  upon  miles  of  mesas  stretching 
upward  from  the  stream  that  no  feet  have 
ever  trodden,  and  that  possess  not  a  vestige 
of  life  of  any  kind.  And  along  its  banks  the 
same  tale  is  told.  You  float  for  days  and 
meet  with  no  traces  of  humanity.  *  *  * 
Slowly,  patiently  winding  about  obstructions, 
cutting  out  new  channels,  creeping  where  it 
may  not  run,  the  bubbleless  water  works  its 
way  to  the  sea.  The  night  winds  steal  along 
its  shores  and  pass  in  and  out  among  its 
sedges,  but  there  are  no  whispering  voices ; 
and  the  stars  emerge  and  shine  upon  the  flat 


flow  of  water,  but  there  is  no  lustre.     The 
drear  desolation  of  it ! " 

Where  the  poet  halts  there  is  left  to  be  told 
simply  the  annals  of  the  days,  the  facts  of  the 
rocks,  the  birds  and  the  plants.  These  Mr. 
Price  has  written,  and  such  need  no  introduc- 
tion. And  so  without  doing  more  than  intro- 
duce the  Introduction  I  was  asked  to  write, 
and  have  not,  I  stop,  premising  only  that  Mr. 
Price  tells  truths  in  his  diary,  and  that  his 
companions  tell  only  less  than  the  truth,  in 
expressing  to  him  their  gratitude  for  his  lead- 
ing of  them  to  the  Desert  and  the  River. 

VERNON  L.  KEU,OGG. 
Stanford  University,  Cal.,  January,  1902. 


THREE    HUNDRED     MILE^    ON     THE, 
COLORADO  RJVER. 

JT  was  past  midday,  the  2ist  December, 
1901,  when  our  party  of  nine,  in  three  row- 
1  boats  (a  black  canvas  boat,  a  red  boat  and 
a  green  boat),  pushed  off  from  the  muddy  bank 
of  the  Colorado  at  the  town  of  Needles,  and 
began  our  journey  of  three  hundred  miles  to 
the  southward.  The  smoky  little  railroad 
town  was  soon  left  behind,  and  we  were  pass- 
ing through  a  level  country  clothed  with  a 
dense  growth  of  arrowweed  five  to  eight  feet 
high,  with  now  and  then  willows  and  cotton- 
wood  rising  to  the  dignity  of  trees.  The  cur- 
rent was  swift  with  many  shoals  and  sand- 
bars, but  with  a  little  practice  we  soon  learned 
to  keep  the  channel. 

We  camped  a  few  miles  below  Needles  on 
the  Arizona  bank,  under  cottonwood  trees,  in 
a  dense  jungle  of  arrowweed,  young  willow 
and  thorny  mesquite,  in  places  impenetrable. 
After  a  few  nights  we  had  become  adepts  in 
hewing  a  comfortable  camp-site  in  the  jungle, 


no  matter  how  dense.  Before  supper  some 
of  the  party  scattered  off  in  search  of  game, 
bringing  back  three  quail  and  a  woodpecker. 
Ernest  thought  he  saw  the  tracks  of  a  wild 
hog  and  heard  one  crashing  through  the 
undergrowth.  The  tracks  of  coyote,  fox  and 
raccoon  were  abundant  along  the  river,  but 
the  traps  set  for  the  animals  were  not  mo- 
lested. 

The  morning  of  the  22d  was  very  cold,  the 
coldest  on  the  trip,  and  ice  formed  an  inch 
thick  in  our  camp  bucket.  By  a  little  after 
sunrise  we  were  off  down  the  river,  the  jagged 
"Needles"  rising  sharp  on  the  southern  hori- 
zon. At  one  point  where  the  Santa  Fe  Rail- 
road runs  close  to  the  river  bank,  a  long  train 
passed,  the  passengers  waving  to  us  from  the 
windows.  Then  the  magnificent  steel  bridge 
over  the  Colorado  came  in  view,  and  on  the 
rocky  hillside  beyond  we  drew  up  our  boats 
for  luncheon.  On  this  hill  we  found  several 
kinds  of  cactus  plants,  some  large  and  barrel- 
shaped,  others  long  and  slender,  growing 
close  to  the  ground.  Here  we  noticed  that 
some  curious  white  ants  had  covered  little 


10 

sticks  and  dead  bushes  with  a  thin  coating  of 
mud,  beneath  which  they  had  eaten  galleries 
in  the  wood.  Professor  Kellogg  said  this 
mud-coating  was  to  protect  the  little  creatures 
from  heat  and  light  and  from  their  enemies. 

How  desperately  bare  all  this  region  is  ! 
It  seems  doubtful  if  three  rains  fall  during 
the  entire  year.  On  all  sides  the  barren 
desert  mountains  shut  in  close  about  us. 
Southward  it  seems  impossible  that  any  river 
could  force  its  way  through  such  piled  con- 
fusion of  rock.  This  is  the  beginning  of 
Mojave  Canyon  ;  the  bare  cliffs  in  places  rise 
abruptly  from  the  water,  in  others  a  narrow 
rim  of  soil,  fringed  with  willows,  lies  between 
the  clifF  and  the  water.  The  river  is  usually 
deep,  the  current  even,  making  no  sound 
except  around  jutting  points  where  it  forms 
small  eddies. 

Midway  in  the  canyon  we  passed  the  little 
steamer  " Aztec, "  which  had  all  the  morning 
been  aground  on  a  bar.  The  Captain  warned 
us  about  a  place  in  the  canyon  below,  where 
an  abrupt  turn  makes  a  dangerous  whirlpool, 
but  in  the  present  low  water  we  had  no  diffi- 


II 

culty  whatever.  In  fact  we  saw  no  place  on 
the  river  which  at  all  alarmed  us.  But  in 
floodtime,  in  spring  and  early  summer,  the 
river  should  be  navigated  only  with  an  ex- 
perienced guide. 

The  rock  all  seems  of  volcanic  formation,  of 
breccia  chiefly,  and  most  brilliantly  colored. 
The  reds,  browns,  greens,  and  yellows  of  a 
dozen  shades,  are  colors  never  seen  except  in 
the  desert,  where  the  rock  masses  are  so  com- 
pletely exposed  to  all  climatic  conditions. 
The  cliffs,  often  rising  hundreds  of  feet,  are 
worn  by  the  wind  and  the  weather  into  fan- 
tastic shapes — pictured  by  the  imagination 
into  birds,  beasts,  and  Indian  heads.  There 
were  several  * 'natural  bridges'*  along  the  tops 
of  the  ridges,  and  caves  were  common  on  the 
face  of  the  cliffs. 

The  canyon  with  its  towering  walls  was  all 
too  soon  left  behind  us,  and  we  floated  down 
past  Pulpit  Rock  with  deserted  nests  of  the 
heron  scattered  over  it,  and  on  to  the  double 
Mojave  Rock  famed  in  Indian  tradition,  to 
the  more  open  country  at  the  head  of  the 
Chimuhuevis  Valley,  where  we  camped, 


distant    from     Needles  about    *28  miles,  14 
miles  from  the  Santa  Fe  Bridge. 

We  made  camp  in  a  little  cove  where  a 
short  ravine  came  down  from  the  steep  vol- 
canic hills.  It  was  a  capital  place  for  game, 
and  a  dozen  quail  fell  to  our  guns.  These 
birds  were  Gambel's  quail,  similar  to  the  val- 
ley quail  of  California,  but  more  bleached  in 
color,  the  males  having  a  chestnut  crown. 
They  run  over  the  rocky  ground  with  sur- 
prising rapidity.  When  thoroughly  alarmed 
the}''  cannot  be  overtaken,  and  they  often  will 
not  take  wing.  We  saw  tracks  of  rabbits  in 
the  sandy  wash  back  of  camp,  and  in  traps 
set  for  small  animals  caught  a  desert  wood 
rat  and  a  long- tailed  mouse.  A  few  ducks 
flew  down  the  river  and  quail  alighted  in  the 
willows  about  camp  at  dusk,  but  bird  life  was 
extremely  rare  during  the  whole  trip,  at 
which  we  marveled. 

[*All  the  distances  given  in  these  notes  are  taken  from  the 
reports  of  steamboat  men  and  may  not  be  accurate.  There 
has  been  no  accurate  survey  or  chart  of  the  river,  so  far  as  I  am 
aware.  An  interesting  account  of  the  region  is  given  by  lieu- 
tenant J.  C.  Ives  in  "Exploration  of  the  Colorado  River  of  the 
West,"  Government  Printing  Office,  Washington,  D.  C.,  1860; 
but  this  is  a  rare  publication,  only  to  be  had  in  the  largest 
libraries.] 


13 

Two  prospectors  had  their  camp  on  the 
Arizona  bank,  a  short  distance  above  us.  We 
had  called  to  them  in  passing  and  learned 
that  they  were  prospecting  a  mine  back  in 
the  hills.  We  met  many  of  these  men  on  the 
way.  At  Needles  a  party  of  four  just  pre- 
ceded us  down  the  river.  We  passed  them  in 
Mojave  Canyon  with  their  boats  drawn  up 
under  the  willows.  None  of  them  cared  to 
give  us  any  information.  They  seem  a  silent, 
taciturn  folk,  suspicious  of  any  stranger,  who 
may  also  be  in  search  of  hidden  treasure. 

The  23d  of  December  dawned  sharp  and 
clear,  but  the  piping  of  quail  on  the  hills 
drew  the  most  reluctant  of  us  from  his  sleep- 
ing bag.  After  hunting  an  hour  we  returned 
to  breakfast  of  cornmeal  mush,  coffee,  pota- 
toes, bacon  and  quail.  While  we  were  eating, 
an  old  Indian,  probably  attracted  by  the  re- 
ports of  our  guns,  came  into  camp.  He 
squatted  a  little  distance  apart,  watching  our 
every  move.  He  was  very  old  and  bent,  and 
dressed  in  nondescript  clothing  perhaps 
begged  at  Needles.  He  had  rawhide  sandals 
on  his  crooked  feet.  When  we  offered  him 


14 

coffee  and  food,  we  noted  that  he  had  no 
teeth.  He  saved  the  scraps  of  bread  from  our 
table,  wrapping  them  in  an  old  rag  wound 
about  his  matted  gray  hair.  We  asked  him 
if  he  was  a  Mojave,  to  which  he  indignantly 
replied,  "No!  Me  Chimuhuevis.  Mojave 
no  bueno,  ladrones  !"  (Mojave  no  good, 
robbers  I)  In  his  answer  was  the  story  of  the 
Chimuhuevis,  a  simple,  agricultural  tribe, 
who  with  their  near  cousins,  the  Colorados,  a 
few  miles  to  the  south,  had  been  from  time 
immemorial  raided  and  robbed  by  the  fiercer 
Mojaves,  dwelling  to  the  north  of  Mojave 
Canyon.  We  left  the  old  man  sitting  on  the 
bank,  and  when  a  bend  in  the  river  a  half 
mile  below  shut  out  the  view,  he  was  still 
there. 

The  Indians  have  many  camps  along  the 
river  on  both  banks ;  their  huts  are  thatched 
with  arrowweed  and  plastered  with  mud. 
We  saw  a  few  fences  of  the  thorny  mesquite 
branches  tied  with  wisps  of  willow  twigs  and 
sometimes  rawhide,  where  they  raised  pump- 
kins, melons  and  beans.  Several  times  we 
saw  lone  Indians  perched  upon  hills  near  the 


15 

river,  evidently  watching  us.  A  strange 
sight,  these  black  figures,  motionless,  sil- 
houetted against  the  sky.  We  did  not  get 
close  enough  to  speak  with  them,  but  some 
children  we  surprised  at  a  distance  on  the 
river  bank  went  skurrying  away  into  the 
brush  like  frightened  rabbits. 

The  valley  passed  we  again  entered  low 
rocky  hills  with  rocks  coming  to  the  water's 
edge,  and  sometimes  only  partially  submerged. 
The  mountains  to  the  south  and  west  were 
very  rugged  and  imposing  in  the  sunset, 
while  those  eastward  were  resplendent  in 
gorgeous  colors,  reds  and  browns.  We  camped 
again  on  the  California  bank  just  above 
Drennan's  quartz  mill,  forty-two  miles  from 
Needles. 

More  quail  shooting  at  supper  time  ;  more 
quail  before  breakfast.  We  make  an  early 
start  down  stream,  getting  a  few  ineffective 
shots  at  ducks.  We  passed  close  to  the  mill, 
which  was  small,  near  to  the  water  on  the 
California  side.  There  was  a  tent  and  a 
rough  frame  house  on  the  bank.  A  few  miles 
below  we  came  to  Boat  Rock,  an  oblong  jut- 


16 

ting  mass  of  lava  in  the  middle  of  the  river. 
Great  heaps  of  drift  were  piled  ten  or  fifteen 
feet  high  on  the  upper  face,  showing  the 
enormous  volume  and  rush  of  the  water  in 
floodtime.  A  few  birds  were  seen  in  the 
open  places,  feeding  on  mistletoe  berries, 
abundant  on  the  mesquite  bushes.  The  most 
common  were  the  western  bluebird  and  the 
phainopepla,  a  slender  black  bird  with  white 
patches  on  its  wings  and  a  crest  much  like 
that  of  the  waxwing.  A  few  white-crowned 
sparrows  were  also  seen  along  the  brushy  banks. 
At  Friant's  ranch,  on  the  Arizona  side, 
three  miles  above  Williams  Fork,  was  the 
first  attempt  at  agriculture  we  had  seen. 
Here  Mr.  Friant  has  a  few  acres  of  alluvial 
soil,  above  high  water,  to  which  he  pumps 
water  with  an  engine  and  windmill.  The 
wonderful  fertility  of  the  soil  and  the  great 
heat  of  summer  enable  him  to  raise  several 
crops  of  garden  vegetables,  where  a  single 
crop  only  could  be  grown  in  colder  regions. 
He  owns  a  little  steamboat  and  carries  most 
of  his  produce  to  Needles,  a  distance  of  fifty- 
five  miles. 


Below  Friant's  the  mountains  on  the  Cali- 
fornia side  come  close  to  the  river,  presenting 
everywhere  a  black,  scorched  front,  almost 
wholly  destitute  of  vegetation.  When  a  plant 
can  obtain  a  foothold  it  is  usually  a  barrel 
cactus,  ("bisnaga"  of  the  Mexicans)  a  scrawny 
palo-verde,  and  a  pallid,  thin-leafed  composite. 
The  Arizona  side  is  alluvial,  with  dense  jungle 
of  arrowweed  and  mesquite,  in  which  quail 
were  very  abundant.  We  shot  several  drink- 
ing at  the  edge  of  the  water;  it  was  impossible 
to  follow  them  back  into  the  jungle. 

Bill  Williams  Fork,  though  it  drains  a 
region  as  large  as  the  State  of  Massachusetts, 
is  a  little  alkaline  streamlet  that  one  may  step 
across.  We  were  told  that  part  of  the  year 
it  was  completely  dry.  A  few  fish,  minnows, 
I  think,  were  in  the  pools  in  this  stream. 
They  were  the  only  fish  seen  on  the  three 
hundred  miles  of  river,  a  surprising  fact,  due 
chiefly  to  the  muddy  water  and  a  lack  of  food 
in  the  Colorado.  A  few  song  sparrows  and 
woodpeckers  were  noted  here,  and  some  ducks 
were  seen  on  the  river. 

A  beautiful  canyon    begins    at    Williams 


i8 

Fork,  in  grandeur  scarcely  surpassed  by  the 
Mojave  Canyon.  We  entered  it  about  noon, 
a  strong  wind  springing  up  from  the  north. 
Cliffs  rose  hundreds  of  feet  above  the  water, 
and  here  for  the  first  time  we  saw  the  candel- 
abra form  of  the  giant  cactus.  White-throated 
swifts  darted  here  and  there  high  among  the 
cliffs,  where  probably  in  summer  time  they 
nested,  and  a  great  hawk  or  eagle  was  soaring 
above  the  peaks.  The  wind  increased  to  a 
gale  before  we  had  passed  through  the  canyon, 
and  on  some  of  the  north  turns,  blowing 
against  the  current,  piled  up  great  waves, 
making  progress  slow.  Many  of  the  cliffs 
had  holes  and  caves  in  them  through  which 
the  wind  whistled  and  roared.  On  the  al- 
luvial banks  the  fine  sands  blow  in  a  yellow 
cloud,  and  drifts  behind  obstructions  like  wind- 
driven  snow.  The  whole  sky  was  filled  with 
the  smoky  haze  of  dust,  the  sun  was  dimmed. 
Some  prospectors  had  camps  here  on  both 
sides  of  the  river,  their  numerous  water  bar- 
rels and  kegs  mute  evidence  of  the  extreme 
aridity  of  the  region  back  from  the  river.  A 
few  donkeys  were  nibbling  at  the  willow 


19 

twigs,  or  looking  with  longing  eyes  at  some  hay 
bales  protected  in  a  pole  corral.  A  three- 
stamp  mill,  rusty  and  deserted,  was  on  the 
left  bank.  We  saw  no  persons  about  the 
place  as  we  swept  on  down  the  river.  A  few 
miles  further  we  came  to  Empire  Flat,  amid 
clouds  of  blowing  sand.  A  copper  company 
have  built  several  houses  here  and  expect 
soon  to  put  up  a  smelter  for  the  mines  a  few 
miles  back  in  the  hills.  Like  most  embryo 
mining  camps,  they  were  waiting  for  "more 
capital."  The  directors  had  a  well-built 
house  with  wide  veranda,  lace  curtains  and 
piano,  but  the  watchman  told  us  it  had  not 
been  occupied. 

As  night  drew  near,  we  camped  behind  a 
sheltered  point  opposite  Mack's  mill,  seventy 
miles  from  Needles.  The  wind  went  down 
with  the  sun  ;  a  full  moon  rising  over  the 
eastern  mountains  made  Christmas  Eve  one 
of  the  most  delightful  of  the  trip.  After  sup- 
per we  built  a  huge  fire  and  sat  about  it  late 
into  the  night  listening  to  tales  of  adventures 
of  big  game-hunting  in  the  Rockies.  The 
fire  lighted  up  a  large  cottonwood  over  us, 


20 

rustling  the  golden  leaves  and  bringing  out 
the  white  trunk  and  branches  in  fine  contrast. 
Behind  us  the  cliffs  magnified  in  the  moon- 
light towered  majestically ;  in  front  the  river 
swept  a  gleaming  sheet  of  silver  ;  and  round 
about  us  the  desert,  immense,  unknown, 
fascinating,  lay  silent  as  midnight. 

The  mill,  standing  on  a  little  rise  above 
the  water,  has  not  crushed  ore  for  some  years; 
its  owner,  Billy  Mack,  has  a  little  ranch 
a  half  mile  from  the  river,  where  a  spring, 
the  only  one  in  scores  of  miles,  trickles  out 
of  a  grassy  sidehill.  Here  he  has  a  few  acres 
of  pasture  and  some  fruit  trees,  a  tiny  oasis. 
While  we  paid  him  a  call  we  were  told  of  the 
times  thirty  years  past  when  he  first  settled 
on  the  land.  How  the  mountain  sheep  used 
to  pass  from  range  to  range  over  well-defined 
trails,  but  all  are  gone  from  the  region  now ; 
he  had  not  seen  a  track  in  a  dozen  years. 

Christmas  on  the  Colorado  !  Our  friends 
in  civilization  have  pitied  us.  Banks  of 
gravel  rose  abruptly  from  the  water,  many  of 
them  covered  with  the  retort-shaped  nests  of 
the  cliff-swallow.  Judging  from  the  deserted 


nests,  swallows  must  be  very  abundant  in  the 
summer  time.  Corner  Rock  passed  we  soon 
came  into  a  broad  river-bottom  and  to  the 
pumping  station  at  the  Indian  reservation  at 
Parker.  A  little  back  from  the  river  we  saw 
the  large  school  building  with  the  American 
flag.  We  kept  on  several  miles,  passing  In- 
dians poling  their  boats  up  stream ,  keeping 
in  the  shallow  water  and  making  surprising 
headway  against  the  swift  current.  Some 
Indian  lodges  of  poles  and  arrowweed  were 
here  and  there  on  both  sides  of  the  river, 
whole  families  staring  at  us  as  we  passed. 
We  camped  for  Christmas  dinner  in  a  thicket 
of  willows  in  the  riverbottom  on  the  California 
side,  there  cooking  a  royal  meal  of  quail, 
mushrooms,  cranberries,  plum  pudding,  candy 
and  nuts,  so  that  the  younger  boys  verily 
believed  themselves  as  well  off  as  at  the  home 
table.  Quail  were  so  common  that  they  were 
shot  from  the  camp;  after  dinner  some 
of  the  party  made  a  way  by  an  old  cattle  trail 
back  to  the  desert  mesa  a  half  mile  from  the 
river.  Here  the  vegetation  abruptly  changes. 
On  the  sandy  or  gravelly  mesa  grow  iron- 


wood,  palo-verde,  ephedra  and  grease  wood, 
in  direct  contrast  to  the  cotton  wood,  willow, 
mesquite  and  arrowweed  of  the  riverbottom. 

After  passing  Williams'  Canyon  some  im- 
posing mountains  came  in  view  on  the  right, 
Mt.  WhiPPle  and  "The  Monument."  The 
latter  is  a  huge  finger,  rising  from  a  rugged 
mountain,  and  visible  for  a  hundred  miles 
down  the  river. 

Saturday,  December  28th,  found  our  party  at 
the  village  of  Ehrenberg,  150  miles  from 
Needles.  We  were  delayed  a  whole  day  in  a 
snug  camp  in  the  jungle  by  a  terrific  north 
wind.  The  whole  region  has  been  one  of 
great  sameness,  an  almost  continuous  succes- 
sion of  flats  and  bars  and  divided  channels. 
We  had  killed  a  horned  owl,  ducks,  quail, 
pelicans.  Charles  shot  a,  large  Canada 
goose,  which  made  us  two  excellent  meals, 
cooked  in  the  * 'dutch  oven." 

Ehrenberg,  a  "city"  of  the  past,  is  now  a 
ragged  collection  of  ruined  adobe  houses  with 
two  or  three  families.  It  once  had  a  popula- 
tion of  thousands,  when  in  the  early  sixties 
the  placer  mines  of  L,a  Paz  were  running  full 


23 

blast.  A  few  Mexicans  hung  about  the  set- 
tlement, and  an  old  prospector  had  come  in 
at  the  store  for  supplies.  We  take  lunch  at 
the  so-called  * 'boarding  house, "  and  wish  we 
hadn't.  We  visit  the  graveyard  on  the  hill- 
side and  note  that  the  marked  graves  are 
nearly  all  those  of  men.  Did  they  die  of 
"natural  causes?0  A  young  mining  man 
told  us  about  old  I,a  Paz,  a  few  miles  to  the 
north,  its  long  streets  of  adobe  houses  roofless 
now  and  utterly  deserted.  The  Indians  would 
not  even  allow  the  thatched  roofs  to  remain, 
but  burned  them  and  tore  out  the  hewn  beams. 
In  its  palmy  days  this  town  had  as  many  as 
four  thousand  population,  and  hundreds  of 
thousands  of  dollars  were  taken  from  the  dry 
washes  thereabout. 

Saturday  afternoon  we  ran  down  the  river 
eight  or  ten  miles  below  Khreuberg  and 
camped  for  two  nights  under  a  sand  bluff  at 
the  edge  of  the  desert,  on  the  Arizona  side. 
These  were  the  red-letter  days  of  the  trip, 
The  boys  killed  numbers  of  ducks,  snipe, 
quail  and  pelicans.  We  rambled  far  over  the 
desert  picking  up  curious  cactus  plants,  little 


24 

fuzzy  fellows  with  recurved  spines,  pieces  of 
petrified  wood,  and  fragments  of  carnelian 
and  agate.  The  place,  too,  was  "birdy,"  in 
contrast  to  all  our  other  camps.  Several 
kinds  not  before  seen  were  collected  and 
skinned,  but  the  exciting  adventure  was  the 
trailing  of  a  huge  buck,  a  mule  deer  of  the 
largest  size.  The  story  of  our  hunt, 
though  we  did  not  get  him,  is  exciting  to  us 
even  now. 

It  happened  this  way.  A  party  of  us  had 
gone  up  one  of  the  sandy  washes  which  come 
down  to  the  river  from  the  gravelly  mesas, 
shooting  quail  here  and  there  and  examining 
the  strange  desert  shrubs.  Professor  Kellogg 
had  gone  ahead,  while  we  had  stopped  to  rest 
on  a  little  gravelly  knoll.  After  a  time  we 
halloed  to  our  companion,  who  answered  and 
began  to  retrace  his  steps  to  our  outlook. 
Suddenly  Miss  W.,  who  was  with  her  sister, 
Mrs.  S.,  exclaimed,  "Look  at  that  deer  !" 
Within  fifty  yards  of  us  an  enormous  buck 
broke  from  a  little  thicket  of  ironwood,  and 
loped  off  leisurely  into  the  middle  of  the  wash 
and  was  soon  lost  in  the  shrubbery.  Our 


25 

guns  were  loaded  with  quail  shot.  For  half 
an  hour  the  deer  had  been  within  easy  range, 
and  had  not  retreated.  Reloading  our  guns 
with  buckshot  we  took  the  trail  down  into 
the  wash,  then  up  a  side  ravine  and  over  a 
little  divide  from  which  he  had  probably 
looked  back  and  seen  us  on  his  trail.  The 
first  half  mile  he  ran,  then  he  settled  down 
to  a  walk,  which  he  did  not  break  for  the 
next  ten  miles.  We  felt  it  little  use  to  lollow 
him  with  shotguns,  so  building  a  fire  to  mark 
the  spot  where  the  trail  was  left,  we  returned 
the  mile  and  a  half  to  camp  for  the  boys  and 
rifles. 

Armed  with  three  rifles,  a  canteen  of  water, 
some  hardtack  and  prunes,  which  we  had 
hastily  seized  in  camp,  we  retook  the  trail  and 
followed  it  until  dark.  For  a  short  distance 
the  buck  was  followed  by  a  doe,  her  hoof- 
prints  not  one-fourth  so  large  as  her  antlered 
companion's.  Then  the  doe  took  a  bye-path 
and  the  track  was  not  seen  again.  At  dusk, 
when  we  gave  up  the  trail  for  the  night,  we  were 
three  miles  from  where  we  had  first  seen  him. 

We  built  a  fire  of  dead  mesquite  and  lay 


26 

down  on  the  bare  ground,  using  our  hunting- 
coats  for  pillows.  We  drank  sparingly,  munch- 
ing our  hardtack  and  prunes,  and  made  plans 
for  the  morrow's  trailing.  We  were  to  walk 
abreast  on  the  trail  of  the  buck,  keep  absolute 
silence,  and  shoot  whenever  the  deer  was 
sighted.  The  moon  rose  after  a  time,  lighting 
up  the  gray-green  iron-wood  and  smoke-bush, 
and  throwing  sharp  shadows  across  the  glit- 
tering sand- washes.  The  scattering  giant  cac- 
tus stood  sentinel-like  over  all  the  waste  of 
desert.  As  the  fire  burned  dim  toward  mid- 
night, some  prowling  night  animal  came  close 
to  camp;  its  footfalls  on  the  loose  gravel  awak- 
ened us  to  replenish  the  fire  and  warm  the 
"other  side."  Thus  we  passed  the  night  with- 
out cover  of  any  kind,  but  not  with  much  dis- 
comfort. Towards  morning  a  coyote  yelped 
in  the  distance,  a  screech-owl  called,  but 
none  came  near  camp. 

At  daybreak  we  were  on  the  trail,  following 
it  up  a  little  side- wash  over  a  flat-topped  ridge 
into  the  adjoining  wash  to  the  north.  The 
deer  was  walking  leisurely,  nibbling  at  times 
at  the  mesquite  and  iron-wood,  probably  get- 


Bancroft  Libttugr 

27 

ting  his  evening  meal,  and  did  not  seem  to  be 
at  all  suspicious.  His  enemies  were  miles  be- 
hind. After  following  him  two  or  three  miles, 
in  which  his  course  was  down  the  wash  to- 
ward the  river-bottom,  we  found  his  night- 
camp  under  a  dense  iron- wood  on  a  slight  rise 
and  overlooking  the  wash.  He  now  began 
breakfast,  as  his  hesitating  tracks  about  cer- 
tain bushes  showed.  We  even  found,  par- 
tially chewed  mouthfuls  of  tender  twigs  with 
saliva  still  wet  upon  them.  These  were  fresh 
signs,  surely,  and  we  rushed  silently  along  the 
trail  with  eye  and  ear  alert  for  any  strange 
movement  or  sound.  Still,  the  deer  kept  to  a 
walk,  making  a  great  oblong  loop,  crossing 
his  trail  near  his  night-bed.  Once  or  twice  he 
had  lain  down  in  this  morning  walk  to  rest, 
and  we  felt  we  were  close  upon  him,  but  he 
soon  turned  here,  heading  up  the  wash  toward 
the  desert  mountains,  some  ten  miles  distant. 
On,  on  we  trailed,  now  over  the  smooth,  sandy 
floor  of  the  old  water-course,  where  his  tracks 
seemed  as  large  as  a  cow's;  now  up  a  little 
gravelly  side  gulch,  where  his  hoof-marks 
were  scarcely  visible,  and  back  again  to  the 


28 

main  wash,  ever  east  ward  toward  the  mountains. 
Each  moment,  strung  with  intense  excite- 
ment, we  expected  to  see  those  immense  ant- 
lers (a  six-pointer,  certainly)  rise  from  some 
gully  and  race  bounding  over  the  desert. 
Once  Charles  thought  he  saw  a  movement  in 
a  thicket  of  mesquite  a  quarter  mile  ahead, 
but  it  was  not  repeated.  When  we  reached 
the  thicket  by  a  circuitous  path,  there  were 
the  fresh  marks  in  the  sand  where  the  deer  had 
lain  down;  now  he  no  longer  walked,  but 
reached  the  gravelly  summit  of  the  mesa  with 
a  few  short  bounds  and  took  a  course  straight 
for  the  mountains  along  the  open  mesa.  Far 
in  the  distance  a  faint  object  was  seen  moving 
from  us,  then  it  faded  into  the  gray  haze  to  be 
seen  no  more.  Its  track  was  lost  on  the  hard 
gravelly  soil.  We  looked  at  each  other  in 
helpless  dismay,  but  Walter  broke  the  silence. 
"Give  me  three  days/7  he  said,  "and  I'll  get 
that  deer!"  We  could  not  spare  the  time. 
But  the  buck,  far  off  at  the  edge  of  the  moun- 
tains, tossed  his  antlers  contemptuously. 
"What  funny  trailers  these  boys  are!  I  wish 
I  had  fooled  them  a  little  longer." 


29 

That  same  afternoon  we  loaded  baggage  on 
our  boats  and  made  a  dozen  miles  down  the 
river,  camping  near  some  woodcutters  who 
were  getting  out  cottonwood  timbers  for  a  lit- 
tle railroad  at  Picacho,  a  mining  town  sixty 
miles  below.  Opposite  our  camp  were  some 
cottonwood  trees  filled  with  the  bulky  nests 
of  the  great  blue  heron.  We  had  seen  these 
birds  sparingly  on  the  river.  In  the  summer- 
time they  are  perhaps  abundant.  Owls  hooted 
all  night  and  little  animals  scampered  over  the 
dry  leaves  about  our  beds. 

The  next  morning,  Dec.  3ist,  we  passed  the 
pump-house  at  the  little  settlement  at  Cibolo, 
and,  taking  the  left-hand  channel  of  the  river, 
gained  some  five  miles  on  our  companions, 
who  took  the  right-hand  or  main  channel.  We 
found  ducks  and  geese  abundant  in  this  by- 
way, but  did  not  have  time  to  stalk  them, 
though  we  got  a  few  shots  from  the  boat  as 
they  flew  by.  At  noon,  at  a  deserted  ranch 
on  the  Arizona  side,  we  waited  three  hours 
for  the  other  boats,  which  had  evidently  been 
delayed  on  the  river.  This  ranch  had  been  a 
famous  stopping  place  in  early  days  when 


30 

there  was  much  travel  to  the  mines  at  La  Paz 
and  Ehrenberg.  It  stands  on  a  gravel  hill,  a 
hundred  feet  above  the  river,  and  has  a  grand 
view  both  north  and  south.  Now  everything 
about  it  was  ruined,  the  court-yard  wall  bro- 
ken down  in  a  dozen  places  and  much  of  the 
roof  fallen  in.  Treasure  hunters  had  dug  up 
all  the  fireplaces  and  great  holes  in  the  packed 
earthen  floors.  As  we  waited  in  the  shade  of 
the  wall  for  the  boats,  the  black  and  the  red, 
to  arrive,  a  little  gray  lizard  ran  from  a  bro- 
ken wall  into  the  sunlight,  the  only  living 
creature,  save  one  raven  croaking  past,  about 
the  premises. 

The  black  boat  arrived  about  the  middle  of 
the  afternoon,  but  it  knew  nothing  of  the 
whereabouts  of  the  red  with  three  boys. 
Somewhat  alarmed,  we  dropped  down  stream 
a  couple  of  miles,  camped,  and  made  a  huge 
fire  for  a  signal.  At  dusk  the  truant  boat  was 
sighted  far  up  the  stream.  The  rowers  had 
broken  an  oarlock.  They  were  lazy,  they 
said,  and  wanted  to  have  some  fun,  so  they 
had  drifted  since  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning,  a 
distance  of  fifteen  miles.  They  had  scarcely 


31 

touched  an  oar,  and,  when  grounded  on  bars, 
had  let  the  boat  swing  around  and  around  till 
they  were  free  again.  The  boys  declared  that 
it  was  the  best  day  of  the  trip.  New  Year's 
Eve,  a  big  fire,  stories,  and  all  so  tired  that 
we  slept  till  dawn. 

This  morning,  the  first  of  the  New  Year,  we 
passed  into  the  Chocolate  Mountains  with  the 
abrupt  chimney  peaks  of  Picacho  directly 
down  the  river.  Lighthouse  Rock,  rising 
boldly  from  the  water,  is  at  the  beginning  of 
an  almost  continuous  canyon  for  thirty  miles. 
This  landmark,  sixty  miles  from  Ehrenberg, 
was  the  first  rocky  formation  on  the  river  for 
a  distance  of  135  miles.  Much  of  the  inter- 
vening country  had  been  through  desolate 
flats,  the  channel  often  hard  to  follow  even 
with  rowboats,  and  nigh  impossible  to  the 
river  steamers  at  this  low  water.  But  there 
was  ever  a  charm  about  the  region,  ever  some- 
thing new, — a  sand-bluff  sculptured  by  the 
wind,  beaver-cuttings  and  slides,  great  flocks 
of  pelicans  and  geese,  which  at  times  arose 
with  deafening  roar  of  their  wings;  a  solitary 
figure  on  the  bank,  wondering  at  our  strange 


32 

flotilla;  cotton  woods,  in  golden  foliage  and 
silver  trunks  and  branches;  willows  in  a  dozen 
shades  of  green,  sunrise  a  glory  of  opalescent 
coloring,  sunset  amid  cloud  masses  of  pink 
and  gold,  with  purple  shadows  reaching  across 
the  distant  mountains,  and  then  twilight  deep- 
ening into  night, — no  two  days  in  the  fourteen 
the  same. 

We  lunched  this  day  under  Precipice  Bend 
just  above  the  town  of  Picacho.  We  climbed 
the  bluff  from  the  north  and  walked  out  to  the 
point  where  it  rises  300  feet  sheer  from  the 
water.  On  every  hand  rose  the  most  ragged 
of  mountains,  wholly  volcanic,  and  of  the 
most  vivid  colors,  browns,  blacks,  reds,  yel- 
lows, greens,  with  streaks  here  and  there  of 
white  volcanic  ash.  It  has  long  been  a  noted 
mining  region.  At  the  town  we  saw  the  foun- 
dation of  an  immense  mill  in  course  of  con- 
struction. 

Our  camp  was  made  below  Canebrake  Can- 
yon on  a  bank  ten  feet  above  the  river,  so 
difficult  to  reach  that  the  boys  called  it  the 
"elevator  camp."  We  heard  coyotes  here,  and 
saw  their  tracks  everywhere  in  the  dry  dust. 


33 

We  left  early,  passing  Castle  Dome  Landing, 
the  strange  mountain  of  that  name,  a  score  of 
miles  to  the  left.  We  were  to  see  its  vast 
dome  for  many  miles.  The  chimney  peaks  of 
Picacho,  however,  were  hidden  by  the  near-by 
hills,  and  we  did  not  see  them  again. 

We  spent  our  last  night  with  "Tomato 
Charley, "  who  has  a  little  farm  on  the  bank 
of  the  river,  where  he  raises  garden  vegetables, 
chiefly  tomatoes.  He  grows  them  summer 
and  winter  alike,  but  in  winter,  at  great  per- 
sonal labor,  he  covers  an  acre  of  the  growing 
plants  with  a  pole  and  brush  house  to  protect 
them  from  the  frosts.  But  now  in  spite  of  all 
his  labor,  an  unprecedented  frost  had  ruined 
the  season's  work.  We  bought  watermelons 
and  sweet  potatoes  from  him,  and  hunted  birds 
in  his  clearing.  In  the  evening  we  walked 
back  a  half  mile  from  the  river  to  the  old  dry 
placers,  where  some  prospectors  still  wash  out 
a  few  dollars  from  the  underground  pockets. 
The  hills  rising  about  were  mostly  of  decom- 
posing granite  with  numerous  quartz  veins; 
the  latter  probably  furnishing  the  gold. 

From  the  top  of  one  of  these  hills  we  ha<J 


34 

the  grandest  view  on  the  journey.  The  sun 
was  low  in  the  west  amid  great  cloud  masses 
piled  high  above  the  Californian  Cordillera, 
which  bold  range  extended  north  and  south 
till  it  blended  in  the  horizon.  This  great 
mountain  chain,  which  is  the  continuation  of 
the  Sierra  Nevada  of  Central  California,  rises 
very  abruptly  from  the  desert  to  a  height  of 
five  or  six  thousand  feet,  and  culminates  in 
the  south  at  the  lofty  peak  of  San  Pedro  Mar- 
tir,  thirteen  thousand  feet  above  the  Gulf. 
This  peak  was  plainly  visible,  a  hundred  and 
fifty  miles  away,  its  cone  rising  sharp  above 
the  haze  of  the  desert.  Between  our  hill  and 
this  southernmost  point  of  vision  lay  a  great 
space,  unbroken  by  any  mountain  range,  the 
wild,  little  known  desert  at  the  head  of  the 
Californian  Gulf, — a  strange  land  filled  with 
wonderful  sights,  the  ever-present  mirage, 
acres  of  boiling  mud  springs,  inland  lakes 
floored  with  rock  salt  crystal  clear,  endless 
mud  fiats,  level  sandy  wastes,  a  land  of  fish 
and  game,  but  with  never  a  drop  of  water  to 
drink.  The  low,  barren  mountains  hereabouts 
all  have  their  tales  of  fabulously  rich  lost 


35 

mines,  and  this  Fata  Morgana  yearly  draws 
gold-fevered  miners  into  the  forbidden  land. 

Dusk  appeared  as  we  were  yet  upon  the 
hilltop.  The  watch  lights  at  Yuma,  a  dozen 
miles  away,  glittered  on  the  prison  walls,  and 
a  train  on  the  Southern  Pacific  toiled  slowly 
over  the  plain.  All  the  glory  had  gone  from 
the  western  sky,  and  San  Pedro  Martir  had 
blended  into  the  gray  of  the  desert.  Only 
about  us  near  at  hand  was  there  vivid  color- 
ing; the  river-bottom  at  our  feet  was  brilliant 
in  silver  and  gold  on  cottonwood  and  willow, 
and  the  pale  green  of  the  arrow-weed  con- 
trasted with  the  dark  mesquite.  A  solitary 
horseman  galloped  over  the  plain  trailing  a 
cloud  of  dust;  at  our  right  the  river  flowed, 
and  there  gleamed  our  camp-fire. 

The  next  morning,  a  few  miles  from  our 
camp,  we  passed  a  solitary  trapper  laboriously 
coming  up  stream,  his  leaky  tub  requiring  al- 
most constant  bailing.  We  answered  his 
questions  about  beaver  sign  and  '  Varmints, " 
and  left  him  at  the  bank  still  bailing  with  a 
slow,  painful  stroke. 

We  stopped   at  midday  a  few  miles  above 


36 

Yuma  for  our  last  meal.  With  not  a  little 
regret  we  drew  out  the  black  canvas  boat, 
knocked  in  its  ribs  and  gunwales  and  rolled 
it  up  for  baggage.  It  had  been  a  companion 
on  many  trips  of  wild  adventure,  and  this  not 
the  least.  Our  camping  together  had  ended. 
The  fourteen  happy  days  had  passed  without 
accident  or  misfortune  of  any  kind.  We  had 
shared  all  uncomplaining  the  little  hardships, 
the  dust  and  the  dirt,  and  none  aided  more  to 
the  success  of  the  trip  than  the  two  ladies, 
who  were  ideal  campers. 

A  few  hours  later  we  drew  up  under  the 
shadow  of  a  great  iron  bridge,  our  three-hun- 
dred-mile journey  on  the  * 'Silent  River" 
ended.  We  had  learned  to  know  it  and  to 
love  it,  and  in  the  hearts  of  every  one  of  us 
was  a  wild  desire  to  leave  all  civilization  and 
follow  the  mighty  current  still  further  to  the 
south,  past  those  boundless  canebrakes  and 
mud  flats  till  merged  into  the  blue  Gulf. 


It  is  the  custom  for  the  Head  SKUast* 
of  c/lgassiz  Hall  to  take  his  boys  durir 
the  school  Vacations  on  camping  "tri-t 
into  wild  and  little-known  regions  i 
\  the  west  and  southwest    It  is  the  £ 
tention  each  time  to  publish  a  bo 
descriptive  of  the  country  and  c 
natural  history. 


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